


back to me

by astralis



Category: Dance Academy
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 00:41:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astralis/pseuds/astralis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reunited in Sydney for Tara's book launch, Abigail and Ethan make some major decisions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	back to me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RJ_Anderson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RJ_Anderson/gifts).



“So,” Ethan said, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. “Can I ask you something?”

Abigail was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside him, playing with her phone and not watching Tara and Kat spin each other giddily around the floor. “Sure,” she said. Later she would think that she had been lulled into a false sense of security by champagne and the triumph of Tara's book launch; then all that mattered was the strange contentment she felt being with Ethan again.

“When was the last time you danced for fun?”

Something twisted in Abigail's stomach. She looked up to see him watching her, and looked away. “Every day,” she said. 

Ethan raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Sure.”

Ethan seemed to slide downwards and fold himself up so he was sitting beside her. “Liar,” he said, with a trace of the secret smile she remembered from her second year at the Academy.

They hadn't seen much of each other since Barcelona. She'd had third year and then the Company and the thing with Wes that had died a peaceful death a few years back; Ethan had been in Barcelona and then Hong Kong and now New York, coming home from time to time for flying visits. They usually had a drink when they were in the same city, just like she'd have a drink with Ben or Kat or even, once, Grace. It was nice, in a distant sort of way. One of them had set some rules for their relationship, and it was probably her. Arm's length, no emotion.

“I got what I wanted,” Abigail said. “I always wanted a spot in the Company. You know that.”

Ethan said nothing.

“Well, what about you?” she asked, after a while. He'd made his point, and she could never quite resist the urge to make a point right back. “Choreography still all it was cracked up to be?”

“Choreography's fine,” Ethan said, the same way Abigail had said 'Every day'.

Too conscious of his warmth and the way he smelled of aftershave, Abigail looked out across the studio. It was almost midnight, and Tara's book launch had been a definite success. The formalities over, most of the guests had gone and somehow all that was left was _them_. Kat and Tara giggling like they were teenagers again, Christian watching Ollie practice the footwork for some new hip-hop routine, Ben and Grace scrolling through the contents of Ben's iPod, apparently planning to dance a pas de deux just as soon as they managed to agree on one.

“So did you read it?” she asked, gesturing at the table on which only a few books remained.

“No.”

“Me neither. I don't really want to remember much of my first year.” Abigail tapped her fingers on the floor, automatically beating out a rhythm. “It totally sucked,” she said impulsively. “And then second year was great, until Sammy died and everything fell apart.” Tap-tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap. “He would have read Tara's book. He probably would have helped her write it.”

It had been more than five years since Sammy's death – since he'd gone out for a run and somehow just stopped _existing_ \- and sometimes the weight of it still hit her like a punch in the gut. Abigail hugged her knees to her chest and focused her eyes on Ben and Grace. They seemed to have decided on the pas de deux from Don Quixote, and everyone else had stopped what they were doing to watch as the first, familiar notes filled the room. The Company had performed Don Quixote last year and Abigail had danced faithfully in the corps while younger, more exciting dancers had claimed the solo roles that should have been hers. 

“How's New York?” she asked, searching for a distraction.

Ethan shrugged. “Exciting. I mean, if you count living in a tiny apartment with five other people and spending a few hours on the subway every day as exciting.”

“But it's New York,” Abigail said, arguing for the sake of arguing. She'd been there two years ago, on tour with the Company, while her relationship with Wes had been waning. They'd tried to revive it by visiting all of New York's most famous tourist spots, and failed.

“It's not home.”

Abigail wondered what it would feel like to care about that. “I guess not,” she said, propping her chin on her knees, and meeting Ethan's eyes.

God. She'd _missed_ having Ethan for a friend, even though their idea of friendship had been a little twisted and confused, flirting and bickering and crazy. But they'd been good together, in their own strange way.

Maybe if they weren't living on two separate continents – well. There was no maybe about it, because they _were_. Abigail swallowed away the sudden, treacherous hope, and looked up in time to see Kat walking towards them.

“Security wants to kick us out so they can set the alarms,” Kat said, as Ben and Grace, laughing, gave up on the pas de deux. “Tara wants to go for a walk up Observatory Hill, are you guys in? Or would you rather sit around all night looking like the most miserable people ever in the whole world?”

“Thanks, Kat. Thanks a lot,” Ethan said, grinning at her, and standing up to poke her shoulder. “I love having a little sister in my life.” He held out a hand. “Abigail? Coming?”

She had an early morning rehearsal but then, so did Ollie. Without letting herself think too much, she put a hand into Ethan's and let him pull her to her feet. “Live on the edge, right?” she asked, and forgot to let go of his hand.

***

Somehow, next morning, Ethan was waiting outside when rehearsal ended, a cup of coffee in both hands. “I brought you something,” he said.

Abigail was exhausted, her head hurt, and her every movement in rehearsal had felt forced and fake, something that seemed to be happen more days than not. For a moment she wanted to tell him to go away, to let her sulk in peace. But he was smiling at her and she really missed her friend, and she could _definitely_ use that cup of coffee. So she let him hand it over, and they made their way out into the sunshine, walking past groups of students eating lunch at the cafe. “Remember those days?” she asked, as if he could possibly forget. She took a sip of the coffee, feeling it wash over her tongue. Perfect.

“Yeah.” 

They circled round the dock and back up again, looking out at the sparkling water of the harbour, ferries and sailboats speeding past and the lumbering grey hulk of a Navy frigate in the distance. Ethan was silent, and Abigail was happy enough without having to worry about saying unintentionally stupid things. They'd passed the Academy and walked out onto the main road before Ethan spoke. “I'm moving back home,” he said.

An unexpected hope flared in Abigail's gut. “What?”

“I decided. Last night, when we were up on the hill.”

Hand in hand, looking out over the city, surrounded by their friends. Abigail had made a decision then, too, she just hadn't realised it until halfway through rehearsal or admitted it until now. “I'm not going to try to renew my contract with the Company. Two months, and I'm out.”

“Big decision.”

“So's yours,” Abigail said, relief flooding over her. Now she'd said it, it was real, and she didn't regret it. “What are you going to do?”

“Well, Zach reckons the Academy's looking for a part time choreo tutor, and a guy I knew in Hong Kong is starting an experimental company here, so they could use a choreographer. Of course, knowing my luck, I'll resign from the company in New York and pack my bags and get back here and I won't get either job, but it's worth a try, right?”

“Totally.”

“What about you?”

“I have no idea,” Abigail admitted, the words rushing out. “I mean, the joke is that everyone ends up teaching at the Academy. Which, if you end up doing that, is totally awesome, by the way. I think I want to stay involved with the Lieberman studio, but other than that... I don't really know. Is that crazy?”

“No crazier than what I'm doing,” Ethan said.

Abigail breathed out a deep, shaky breath. “Wow,” she said, and found herself half-laughing, almost dizzy. “Look at us.”

Ethan laughed with her. “Feels good.”

“It does, doesn't it?” Abigail gulped down the last of her coffee so she could toss the cup into a convenient rubbish bin, and summoned up another burst of courage. “You know what you said last night?”

“I said a lot last night.”

“Yeah, I know. I mean – about dancing for fun.” Abigail concentrated her gaze on the footpath. “There's something I want to do back at the Academy. You coming?”

“With you?” Ethan said. “Always.” It sounded like a promise, and Abigail found herself holding onto it.

“Good.” She reached out and took his hand again. His palm was sweaty, or maybe hers was. Either way, it didn't matter as they turned around, heading back the way they'd come. 

Ethan's grip firm on her hand, Abigail led the way through the Academy's crowded corridors until they found a tiny, unused studio. “I just really want to do this,” she said, to herself, or to him.

The first real dance Ethan had ever choreographed had been for her; no one but her had ever danced it. And it hadn't been danced since she graduated, which seemed, suddenly, like an overwhelming waste that was all tied up with her leaving the Company and Ethan leaving New York and the idea that, somehow, they might have a chance again. She plugged into her iPod, fumbled with it until she found the song she'd never been able to delete, and handed it to Ethan.

“Abigail."

“Dancing for fun,” she said. She stretched out her limbs, rolled her shoulders, arched her back, kicked off her shoes. “Okay,” she said, the routine coming back to her, perfect and wonderful, as though she'd run through it yesterday.

Ethan hit play, and Abigail began to dance.

_Look down_  
 _The ground below is crumbling_  
 _Look up_  
 _The stars are all exploding..._

**Author's Note:**

> The song lyrics are, of course, from 'The Last Day on Earth' by Kate Miller-Heidke.


End file.
